


A New Eden

by bluebacchus



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Body Worship, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Soft Boys, Trans Male Character, Trans Thomas Jopson, mentions of victorian surgery, the price of victorian dildoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebacchus/pseuds/bluebacchus
Summary: Surprise! It was so hard to keep this a secret from one of my best friends in the fandom. The prompts were 'class difference', 'oblivious Jopson', and 'trans Jopson smut'. I threw a bit of each of them in here, with a hefty helping of the last one.(I'm not an expert in any way, but I think Jopson is the kind of guy who knows exactly who he is and what he wants. I definitely invented Victorian top surgery, but I wanted him to feel comfortable in his body and in what brings him pleasure. Any mentions of genitalia are relatively vague because of this.)
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36
Collections: The Joplittle Fall Fic Exchange 2020





	A New Eden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mothicalcreatures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothicalcreatures/gifts).



> Surprise! It was so hard to keep this a secret from one of my best friends in the fandom. The prompts were 'class difference', 'oblivious Jopson', and 'trans Jopson smut'. I threw a bit of each of them in here, with a hefty helping of the last one. 
> 
> (I'm not an expert in any way, but I think Jopson is the kind of guy who knows exactly who he is and what he wants. I definitely invented Victorian top surgery, but I wanted him to feel comfortable in his body and in what brings him pleasure. Any mentions of genitalia are relatively vague because of this.)

There is a magical white bear stalking the ship, picking them off one by one in a land where the sun does not set, and yet that is easier for Thomas Jopson to accept than this.

Lieutenant Little is on his knees in Tom’s curtained-off quarters, grasping one of Tom’s hands between his own like he would plunge into frigid Arctic waters if he were to let go.

“Please, Mr. Jopson, do not make me repeat myself,” he says, drawing the hand he clutches to his lips and pressing a kiss against the soft skin of Tom’s palm.

Tom closes his eyes and breathes in and out slowly. He must end this before it begins, for both of their sakes.

Instead, he stumbles over the words as he asks, “I-is this a jest, Lieutenant?”

Little looks up at him, dark eyes wide and sad, and shakes his head frantically. “Never, Jopson. I may not be the greatest man, but I am a man who loves you. I cannot hide it any longer, not now, when we may not survive the winter. If you wish to report me to the captain, then so be it. But I am rotten to the core with love for you, and if you demand it so, I will not hesitate to die for it.”

Tom gasps, and sinks to his knees to join Little on the floor. “But why, lieutenant? You are more a gentleman than I could ever be—more than I could hope to serve on land, even.”

Little brings Tom’s hand to his chest. Through the coat, Tom can feel the ferocious beat of Little’s heart.

“You truly do not see what a gift you are, Tom?” Tom shakes his head, confused. He is only a steward, a poor boy from the slums of London. Perhaps his careful accent has tricked the lieutenant into thinking otherwise.

Slipping seamlessly into his native accent, Tom answers, “If I were deserving, I’d accept your love, sir. But ‘m not. I can’t.”

Little raises his head, defiant. “It is my love to give, Tom. And you cannot refuse what you already have.”

“There are things you don’t know about me.”

“And I will learn every one of them.”

“Things you won’t like.”

“I like _you_.”

Tom looks up towards the lamp, hoping it will illuminate the proper path for him to take. Instead, he sees the reflection of he and Little in his small shaving mirror. His reflection stares back with its arms wrapped around Little’s back, holding him close with his face buried in Tom’s shoulder. Looking away, Tom finds Little—Edward, he supposes he will call him now—in his arms. His weight is a comfort, his warmth moreso.

Then Edward looks up with hope shining in his eyes like the Arctic sun. Tom kisses him and thinks no more of the future.

Edward courts him with a tenacity Tom had not known him to have. Each evening when he returns to his berth after cleaning up supper, he finds small gifts scattered around his quarters. Nothing large and nothing fancy: a wooden figurine of a seal, a pair of woolen socks, foreign coins from far-off ports that could only come from a sailor. Where he is getting them, Tom does not know, but when he pulls back his blankets and finds a small pile of sweets, he cannot help the flutter in his chest.

“You received my gifts?” Edward asks when they are finally alone. They are in the great cabin, of all places, but the Captain is asleep with Doctor MacDonald’s tonic and they will not be bothered. Tom stands and lifts his trouser leg to reveal the colourful braided rope wrapped around his ankle. The other gift he had just finished, and he leans down to kiss Edward, the taste of chocolate still on his lips.

“You don’t need to court me with gifts, Edward. I can’t imagine what you must be trading with the crew to acquire such things.”

“Don’t spare it another thought, my Tom. I want you to have the finest things in all the Arctic.”

“Not much competition there, dearest.”

Edward smiles down at his folded hands. Exhaustion has creased his brow and drawn dark circles under his eyes, but he is beautiful, and Tom wants to be his.

They have not yet done anything but kiss. Some kisses grew heated, yes, but in their few times alone Tom was quick to make excuses as soon as Edward’s hands began to wander south of his waist. He is happy, and he fears the inevitable end of their love affair, sure to come once he divulges his secret to Edward.

“Come to me tonight?” Edward asks in a whisper. “If I must, I will beg for the chance to touch you.”

Tom pulls his chair close to Edward’s and reaches for his hands. Edward accepts without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t think it’s wise,” he says. His resolve is breaking—he can feel it. If Edward begs—begs for _him_ —Tom will not refuse him, and Edward will find out—

“I disagree,” Edward says. “I think it very wise. I think that my desire clouds my judgement, and as acting captain, I must be free from such distraction.”

Edward’s sense of humour is buried deep, to be sure, but it is there, beneath the serious exterior and intense speech. Tom has had a weakness for Edward’s playful side since he was first made privy to it.

“Then I suppose I must, Captain Little. For the good of the crew.”

“And your own selfish desires, perhaps?” Edward looks pleadingly at him.

Tom leans forward to kiss him on the nose. “Of course, my Edward.”

Tom’s hands shake when he slides open the door to Edward’s berth. The feeling he struggles with reminds him of the last time he knocked on Doctor Smythe’s door: he wants what lay on the other side more than anything, but he is terrified to proceed.

But the doctor took his hands in hers, showed him how the ether apparatus worked, and assured him that if he kept the incisions clean and followed her instructions, all he would be left with was a pair of scars and the beautiful, flat chest he had always dreamed of having.

She had done the same years earlier when he came to her the first time, asking what made him bleed each month and if he could be rid of it; he was going off to sea, he told her, and he couldn’t risk any complications. _Boys don’t cry,_ his mother said, and he did not cry, even when he felt the scalpel first cut through the soft skin of his belly. The pain was dulled by the ether, but he felt it.

By all comparisons, unbuttoning his shirt in front of Edward should be easy. He has been brave his whole life; brave enough to know who he is and who he is meant to be; brave enough to fix what is wrong with his body; brave enough to accept the love of a lieutenant who does not know what lies beneath his clothes.

Steeling himself against the spiraling anxiety of possible rejection, Tom pushes open the door.

Edward has made his quarters as warm and cozy as they have ever been. He has acquired more blankets than his usual bedspread, spread over the cold wood of the floor. The lamp, at its full brightness, makes Edward’s hair shine gold in its light. He wrings his hands in his lap until Tom takes a step inside, sliding the door shut behind him. Then he stands, reaching out for him.

Tom meets him in the middle, falling into his embrace. _If this is to be our last embrace,_ he thinks, _I had best enjoy it._

“I would like you to see me,” Tom says. His words are muffled against the coarse hair of Edward’s mutton chops. Edward presses a kiss to his temple.

“That is all I could ask for.”

Edward’s eyes roam over his clothed body as he steps back, untying the neckerchief at his throat. He forgoes folding it on the desk; if he was to stop now, he would run and never return. Next is the coat, draped over the back of the chair at Edward’s writing desk. Then the waistcoat, and the sweater, and then, finally, he unbuttons his shirt. Searching Edward’s eyes and finding nothing but admiration, Tom pulls the two sides of his shirt apart and shrugs it off his shoulders.

Edward’s hands reach out and pull him close. The scratch of wool against his bare chest makes him shudder, the drag of Edward’s palms over his spine makes him sigh.

“Beautiful,” Edward says. “My beautiful, beautiful boy.”

His words bring the prick of tears to Tom’s eyes. He blinks them back and pulls back just enough to slide Edward’s top button through its hole. Edward smiles-- a brilliant, vibrant thing that could melt the ice as sure as it melts Tom’s heart—and tugs the shirt over his head, tossing it backwards onto his bed.

Edward’s chest is one that Tom longed for as a child—broad and strong with a thick line of dark hair descending down his belly to where it disappears beneath his waistband. He had wanted it for himself, but now Tom is content to touch; to trace fingertips across Edward’s clavicle, to run a flat palm through the hair that grows thicker between his pectorals, to roll a pink nipple between his finger and thumb and listen to Edward’s breath catch in his throat.

But he has come this far, so Tom closes his eyes and lets his trousers fall to the floor.

When he opens them, he finds Edward on his knees, cheek pressed against his belly. He clings to the waistband of Tom’s smallclothes, looking up at him from under thick eyelashes, pleading.

“There’s something—“ Tom whispers, “There’s something you should know.”

Edward nuzzles his cheek against the crotch of Tom’s pants. “I don’t care,” he says.

“You will care.”

“I can’t imagine caring about anything more than I care about you.”

“Then see me, and don’t hold me accountable for your reaction.”

Edward’s eyebrows knit together, but he wiggles the cotton drawers down Tom’s legs, following their descent with the bowing of his head until they are pooled around Tom’s ankles. He looks up.

“Oh!” Edward exclaims.

“I—“ Tom waves at his groin—“don’t have one.”

“Why not?” Edward sits back on his heels. He doesn’t look angry, or upset. He just looks curious.

Tom shrugs. “I wonder that myself.”

“Do you want one?”

Tom looks at him blankly. “A penis?”

Edward scoots backwards and sits on the bed. He pats the space beside him, inviting Tom to sit.

“A phallus of your own, yes.”

Tom shrugs again. “I don’t think it will make me any more or less of a man, if that’s what you mean.”

Edward grabs hold of his hand. “No! Not at all, Tom. I was only…” He trails off. A slight flush rises on his cheeks.

“Go on, lieutenant.”

Edward frowns. “Please, Tom, am I not still your Edward? Just as you are the same darling Tom Jopson you were this morning? My love for you has only grown, as it does with each passing day.”

Tom worries a lip between his teeth.

“I only asked because I have seen false phalluses before. Made of ivory, or jade, or polished marble! Works of art, or so I thought, until I learned their true purpose. I am a deft hand at knots, my darling, and I am certain with your innovative mind we can find a way for you to have one of your own.”

“Ivory and jade?” Tom scoffs. “I couldn’t afford one if I served on a hundred Arctic voyages.”

“Then stay with me when we return, and I will make sure you have the finest phallus in all of England!”

Tom laughs. Edward’s eagerness fades and the blush returns as he adds quietly, “It is a selfish motivation, and one of which I am ashamed, but I would very much like for you to use it to bugger me.”

Tom shifts his thighs, naked on Edward’s berth. The image of him with an ivory cock, buried to the hilt, fucking Edward as he squirms and moans underneath him ignites a heat in his lower belly and he can feel a slickness begin to trickle out from inside him.

“Of course, my Edward,” he says. “I’m yours.” He swallows, unused to the lewdness of what he is about to say. “I want to bring you pleasure. But perhaps there is another way I can please you tonight.” Tom leans back on his elbows and lets his thighs fall open. He can see the shine of moisture, and is horrified by the wet spot he has left on Edward’s sheets.

“There?” Edward whispers hoarsely. Tom drags a finger over his slit. His eyes flutter shut as he brushes against the bundle of nerves at the top.

“It feels good, Edward. You won’t deny me pleasure, will you?”

Edward’s pupils are blown wide as he stares at Tom’s finger, stroking himself again. He shakes his head.

The next soft stroke over his slit is with Edward’s fingers; thicker, rougher, and everything Tom has ever wanted. He’s gentle, pressing in only lightly before withdrawing, a look of wonder on his face.

“It’s wet,” he says, awed. “And so soft!”

“Wet for the want of you, my Edward,” Tom gasps. One of Edward’s thick fingers slipped tantalizingly close to his entrance. “Touch me inside, please. I want your fingers, and then your—“

“Yes,” Edward says, sliding off the bed onto his knees. Tom watches Edward watching his finger as it sinks into the soft, pink folds below. Tom hums happily, planting his feet on the mattress and circling his hips. Edward thrusts his finger in experimentally, and Tom’s head lolls back against the blankets. When he looks back at his beloved, Edward pulls his finger out and gives an experimental flick of his tongue over the wetness that coats it. A look of revelation crosses his face, and with a tense nod from Tom, Edward buries his face in Tom’s groin, laving his tongue over his most secret places like he is the most delicious dessert to have ever been laid on Edward’s plate.

Tom, meanwhile, is in ecstasy. The hot, wet slide of Edward’s tongue against his folds is overwhelming; he has never felt such pleasure before. He wants more, wants the point of Edward’s tongue to tease that little spot that makes sparks dance behind his eyes, so he reaches down to press and shift the skin that hide it.

“There,” he pants, “lick me there.”

Edward wastes not a second, moving his face up until each buck of Tom’s hips rubs his groin against Edward’s chin. Edward’s tongue is quick to find the spot Tom directs him to, and he rubs his tongue against it, massaging the bundle of nerves until Tom’s hands wind into his hair and he writhes on the bed, grinding against Edward’s face until his vision goes white and he comes, thighs quaking as Edward licks him through it.

“Oh,” Tom sighs as the jolts of ecstasy fade away. Edward is nuzzling his inner thigh, waiting until he has Tom’s full attention to pull back and lick his lips.

“Come here,” Tom says, but Edward is already on top of him, kissing him like they have just invented the act.

He can feel the bulge of Edward’s clothed prick rub against his belly, and despite the mind-shattering orgasm from Edward’s mouth, Tom wants more.

“Make love to me, Ned,” he says. “I want you inside me.”

Edward manages to get most of the way out of his trousers and smallclothes without detaching his mouth from Tom’s, but he is forced to pull away when his ankles become tangled in the fabric.

“Bloody, useless trousers,” Edward mumbles under his breath. He kicks and tugs at the fabric that winds around his ankles until finally, with a _rip_ , his legs come free. Tom dissolves in a fit of giggles, body shaking as Edward returns to him and they fumble into a better position on the bed.

“I love you,” Tom says, still grinning. Edward licks at the curve of his lips, lowering himself to his elbows so his chest is pressed against Tom’s. The tickle of chest hair against his own smooth skin is both strange and satisfying. Tom pushes upwards to feel more of it; to feel more of Edward.

Edward shudders against him. “I am so glad my first time is to be with you.”

Tom stops his movements and gazes up at his lover.

“Surely not your _first_ _ever_?” he asks.

Edward nods shyly. “Will you show me how to please you?” he asks Tom’s shoulder.

“I will do what I can,” Tom says, “but it’s my first time also.”

Edward pulls back, aghast, until he is straddling Tom’s hips. “But you know so much!”

“You can thank Doctor Smythe when we make it back to England. ‘Know your body inside and out before I do anything to change it,’ she said. I know what brings me pleasure because it does not bring me grief.” He rubs the thick scar that runs across his lower belly.

“And—“ Edward’s eyes darken once again, “—to have me inside…”

Tom cranes his neck to nip at Edward’s ear and whisper, “It will be ecstasy.”

They kiss, passionately moaning into each other’s mouths until Tom wraps a leg around Edward’s back, pressing himself against the length of Edward’s cock.

“Please,” he begs. Edward lifts his other leg to join the one wrapped around his middle and guides himself towards Tom’s opening. He rubs the tip in the wetness that has gathered there, slicking up his cock until he slides in without resistance.

Tom keens when Edward pushes inside; he is so deep, and he feels full in a way his fingers could never achieve. Edward’s eyes shut, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath before he opens them again.

“Good?” he asks. Tom nods and pulls Edward’s face closer so he can cover it with quick kisses. “You’re so warm,” Edward says. He pulls out halfway before thrusting back in, and Tom’s arms wrap around Edward’s shoulders, keeping him close as he does it again, and again. Loud, wet sounds come from where their bodies meet. He should be ashamed of the mess he’s making on the sheets, but the slick sound of Edward’s cock entering him makes his toes curl. His hand finds its way between his legs, and Tom rubs at himself, bringing his pleasure to new heights as Edward loses himself in the heat of Tom’s arousal.

“Tom, my beloved, my darling, I—“ Edward’s hips stutter like his words, and Tom knows he is close. His own orgasm is building again inside him, and it won’t be long before he comes, clenching around Edward’s length inside him.

“Me too, my Ned, me too. Make me come; stay inside me; I want to feel you as close as can be—“

Edward falls forward on outstretched hands, one on either side of Tom’s neck. His hips jerk sharply—the thrust makes Tom yelp—and then he is coming, face contorted into an ecstatic grimace. The feel of himself filled, bracketed by his beloved Edward’s strong arms, has Tom ‘s fingers moving faster over himself and, as Edward comes down from his own peak, Tom rises to his and orgasms a second time, insides clenching around Edward’s cock as if to say _I’ll never let you go._

The aftermath is a fumble of weak knees retrieving errant socks from under the bunk, cold cloths against heated skin, and, finally, two men in love wrapped up in blankets and each other.

“Was this foolish?” Tom asks. He strokes Edward’s hair slowly, pretending they have all night.

Edward mumbles something against Tom’s chest where he rests his head. His eyelids droop, and now that the fire of lust has been dulled, Tom can see the exhaustion that is written across his face. His own cannot be much better; they have both been run ragged by the Captain’s illness and the monster on the ice. Perhaps in England they will have more time. There is so much more comfort to be had; so many more pleasures to discover.

Tom imagines a cottage in the country where Edward’s family goes to hunt and shoot and swim, abandoned but for them. He will cook his beloved a simple yet delicious supper—nothing from a can—then lead him to the bedroom where they will undress for each other, savouring each piece of exposed skin and feel safe in the knowledge that every piece will be accepted, loved, and revered by the other. Then maybe, like he had said, Edward will press a long, thin box into his hands. A gift, he will say, like I promised you in the Arctic. Inside, Tom will find a carved piece of jade or ivory, and together they will be blessed with another first time.


End file.
